Thirteen
by Sirikit
Summary: Thirteen times Zacharias fancies Susan, but doesn't do anything about it, and one time he does.
1. boy in static

**1. boy in static (without warning)**    

It begins with static.

They're sitting next to each other in the library and he's about to tap her arm to get her attention, and there it is, literal static, passing from his fingers to the place at her wrist where her uniform jumper ends. Susan flinches and pulls away from him, her mouth falling open into a round 'O' as she gives a little gasp.

And this is the moment where Zacharias notices --_ really_ notices -- the shape of her mouth and the dark pink of her lips, waxy from lip balm. To his dawning horror he thinks he might be staring. He realizes, as if from a distance, that he would like to know how she _tastes_.

But she doesn't notice him gaping and just hands him whatever it was -- a quill or a sheet of parchment or whatever -- that he had needed, then turns away to talk to Padma Patil again.

Zacharias shakes himself as if he'd almost fallen asleep, turns back to his Transfig notes. Sixth year is already turning him nutters.

--


	2. War on the Weekend

**2. War on the Weekend (mimic and rote)**

_Hurry, hurry to believe  
I can always trust, as much as you deceive._

_- _

Susan's heart is pounding within her chest, steady as a drumbeat. A well-aimed curse streaks past her temple, coming so close that it leaves needle-pricks in its wake. She fights the urge to rub her skin, but there's no time for that now, wouldn't be any time for it in the real thing.

It's midnight in the Room of Requirement, and she and Zacharias are exchanging spells across an expanse of rubber mat. Streaks of colored light are flying all about the room, intent as arrows, but she's only preoccupied with the jinx Zacharias has aimed squarely at her eyes.

She blocks, but her stance is awkward and the effort to right herself makes her misfire on her next spell. _Stupid_, she thinks, making a sound of frustration. Think about what you're doing, is what Potter had said, she reminds herself. _Think._

She flings a volley of _Impedimenta_ towards him to buy herself more time, to let herself see. He parries her spells with impatient slashes through the air.

_He's in a temper, no tactics, reacts without thinking it through--_

Susan pauses, lets Zacharias think it's his _turn_. But he only has his arm half-raised when she fires a stunning spell his way, the sphere of red light spinning out of her wand like a comet.

Zacharias mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'fuck _me_!' and struggles to produce _Protego_ in time to block it. But he manages, probably out of sheer stubbornness and luck, and a formless white haze rises to shield him. It's not very good, certainly not as good as what Potter had demonstrated, but good enough.

They cast _Expelliarmus_ at each other at the same time and the double-blast rings in her ears, but in the end all they accomplish is nothing more, and nothing less, than knocking the wands out of each other's hands.

She grips her stinging forearm at the wrist and watches Zacharias' face across from her, pale and unapologetic, with an expression of disquiet that she can't understand. But she remembers old points of etiquette and makes the proper gesture of concession, palms up; he salutes her without irony as they both pick up their wands.

From elsewhere in the room, Hermione Granger announces that the meeting is over.

--

"Just say it," she says to him once they're safely back in the common room. The others have gone ahead to the dormitories, and there's only a pair of third-years in the room with them, dozing listlessly over their half-finished homework. "You're upset over something, I know you are."

He takes his time, still frowning, and Susan prays to Merlin or the Muggle god or whomever, wishing for a map to help her navigate the nuances of Zacharias' scowls. It would save everybody loads of time and trouble.

"That was a good duel," he finally says. "You're better than I thought you'd be. Actually, you're very good." He gives her a sidelong glance, and she doesn't feel it's very friendly. "Better than me by a mile, despite the draw. I could feel it."

He's not wrong, she thinks to herself, though she would never say it, but the way he says it still hurts. "You're in a strop over _that_?"

"Bones, I am not 'in a strop'," he snits at her immediately, and she has to bite back a smile. Which he notices, and has the grace to look embarrassed about.

"What I _meant_," he continues more sedately, though his voice still strained, "is that... you're serious about this, this Potter's Army working together business, aren't you? You really mean to fight."

"Of course I do. You know I wouldn't waste my time on something I'm not serious about, and I certainly wouldn't risk getting caught skulking about in the dark after curfew if I didn't think it was worth it." She thinks of what she's heard about detention with the Headmistress, and shudders. "One day, if the day comes, I mean to be ready. Simple as that."

His expression grows pained. "That's what I was afraid of."

"Look, I'm sorry if you're upset at the idea that a _girl_ is a better fighter than you, but--"

He bristles visibly, puts a hand up between them. "Susan, I don't bloody care if you can curse me up and down the length of the Great Hall, I really don't, so just _shut it_ about that, alright? I just meant--" But he falters there, struggles to meet her gaze, and there is such a tension in him that Susan doesn't understand.

She reaches out to touch his arm but he shrugs her away; she reels back as if stung. His expression has grown shuttered, unreadable. He has never been that way with her before.

"Just take care of yourself," he says, his tone very curt. "That's all I wanted to say."

Abruptly, he turns and walks off towards the boys' dorm, his footfall echoing on the stone floor. Susan just watches him go and tries not to feel as if she has just left something behind.

--

Today's lyrical epigraph brought to you by Stars, 'Midnight Coward.'


	3. Plenty of Paper

A/N: With guest star Hannah Abbott.

**3. Plenty of Paper (T is for Troll)**  

_Give me a week or two to  
_ _go absolutely cuckoo_

-  
   

The paper plane nearly stabbed Zacharias in the eye as he turned the corner into the fifth year boys' dorm.   "Merlin's b--" he exclaimed, ducking his head quickly to the side. He had his wand out in a second, ready to blast the plane to pieces, never mind that it might have been someone's important note. But then it stopped in mid-air and unfolded itself in front of him, and he certainly recognized the handwriting.

_ Please be nice! She's having a rough time of it._

_Susan_

That was all the warning he got before Hannah Abbott marched into the room in a flutter, her eyes red-rimmed and her hair a blowsy mess. She walked up to him, as in _right up_ to him, forcing him to step back by the force of the truly insane look in her eyes. She began to shake a fistful of parchment in his face like it was a tambourine, and Zacharias was reminded of just how much he disliked people invading his personal space without his permission.

"Susan said you've got brilliant notes for all the practicals we've done in Charms this year," she declared. "May I borrow them? Just for a bit, like for a day. I just want to have a look at yours, and if they're better than mine -- which is unlikely but possible -- then I'd like to copy them, possibly, because that would really help me and Susan said you would help me."

"Yes, Susan is an awfully helpful person," he drawled, glaring at the note in his hand. To Abbott, it must have looked like he was about to refuse because she suddenly clutched his arm and started wheedling.

"Pleeease, Zacharias. Pleeeeeeeease."

Alarmingly, she then started to bat at the air with her sodding parchment, making pathetic little mewling sounds of distress. Zacharias had to suppress the urge to make a comment about her new, startling resemblance to Filch's cat.

"'Be nice,' she said," he muttered to himself, hearing Susan's voice in his head. He tried not to think too hard about the fact that she sounded suspiciously like his conscience.

"But I _am_ being nice," Abbott replied. "It's just that I really,_really_ need to check the middle three steps to the chameleon charm procedure because you know OWLs are--"

_OWLs_, he thought. _Of bloody course_.

Before she could keep nattering on, he placed his hands on her shoulders and shook her a little, enough to startle her into shutting up. He bent down and spoke slowly and loudly, as if to a child, or a Weasley.

"Any and all rubbish on my desk, any old essay or exam or coursework or whatever -- just take it, whatever will stop you throwing yourself off the Astronomy Tower before dinner. Just have my things back by the weekend, and try to remember that OWLs aren't for _ages_ and you'll be fine. Alright? Alright. Hey, no-- wait--"

She had launched herself at him, hugging his midsection tightly, her blonde hair brushing against his face and threatening to make him sneeze.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou_so much_!"

He tried to back off but didn't have room to move; she had effectively cornered him between the wall and Macmillan's bed.

"Abbott, geroff! It's just notes! Seriously, I don't like being hugged--!"

And of course, Ernie chose that exact moment to return from the library, and after Zacharias had finally disentangled Abbott from himself, he had to spend half an hour explaining that he was _not_, in fact, trying to steal the girl Ernie fancied...

--

"You realize she's gone totally mental, don't you?" he asked Susan later on their way to dinner. "As in, they should fire-call in a mediwitch from St Mungo's because she's clearly headed to disaster. Maybe some sort of fit due to excessive swotting, or something."

Susan looked at him rebukingly but didn't say anything. In fact, she looked faintly embarrassed.

"Let's hope we don't have to resort to _that_. I suppose I can get one of the Ravenclaws to brew up a Calming Draught, or--" She sighed. "I'll just have a talk with her, like a _real_ one. Anyway, I'm sorry about foisting her on you this afternoon."

He coughed, not sure how process how good it sounded, Susan apologizing to him.

"Yes, well. I could imagine that she'd borrowed all your other notes and you didn't want to lend her any more. You need to revise for OWLs yourself, after all." He gave her a sidelong glance as they turned the last corner. "You're too nice, you know."

"You, on the other hand, could always use a bit of practice."

He couldn't fault her for that and they walked through the open doors of the Great Hall together.

---

The Magnetic Fields, 'Absolutely Cuckoo'


	4. Hesitation Waltz

Summary: Zacharias and Susan at the Yule Ball.

 **4. Hesitation Waltz (a little bit of night music)**

He asks Susan to dance in what he later recognizes as a fit of panic. Marietta Edgecombe had somehow dragged him onto the dance floor earlier and Zacharias isn't thrilled at the idea of people thinking he fancied _her_.

"No wonder you haven't got a girlfriend," Susan says with some asperity as he turns her once, twice. She isn't prepared for either and almost stumbles in her high heels.   

His hand tightens at her back, pulling her straight; he can feel her ribs under his fingers, under the shifting layers of her dress.

  "As if you can talk," he retorts as soon as he's maneuvered them far enough away from Edgecombe.   

Her answering gaze is flinty and he lets himself become preoccupied with it, notices the makeup on her eyelids, awkwardly applied, the darkened eyelashes that are still blonde at the roots.   

"At least _I_ came with a partner," she teases, and he resents how the conversation is now about Finch-Fletchley, who he considers well left at the drinks table, chatting amiably with some Ravenclaws.

 "Yeah," he says with a smirk, "but that doesn't mean he's your boyfriend."   

She doesn't miss a beat. "Actually, it means we've decided to get married and have _lots_ of babies. You'd want to be godfather to the best-behaved one, right?"

  Susan takes the lead for a bit as Zacharias chokes on his own laughter, and they barely avoid colliding into Cedric and Chang.   

"Is that cough a yes or a no?" she asks him with unflappable seriousness, and he finds it amazing that some people think Susan doesn't have a sense of humor. But then, Zacharias knows that most people are idiots.  

"So long as they don't call me 'Uncle Zach'," he says as soon as he can speak again. "Because if they do, I swear I'll feed them to a mountain troll, even if they are your kids."  

"I promise to teach them to call you 'Mr Smith' at all times."

  He smirks. "Sorted, then."  

She smiles back at him, and Zacharias wonders if they've put something in the punch because he has a sudden urge to say something really daft, like some sort of general compliment on how she looks, about her dress or how she smells or the interesting hollows of her collarbone, or some rubbish like that.

But Zacharias is no flatterer, even when he means it. The waltz-or-whatever changes tempo, slows down, and her hand goes slack at his shoulder before he lets go of her waist.   

"Good dance, thanks," he says as the music ends, and thanks her silently again for _not_ immediately looking round for her ponce of a not-boyfriend.   

"You're welcome. Just come find me if you need another rescue, yeah?"

"Just try not to get married before the evening's through," he says, because he can't help himself.  

She laughs good-naturedly at that. "I'll owl you an invite in case I do."  

Zacharias watches her walk away as the Weird Sisters strike up a new song, a proper one that he actually likes. But he turns round, keen to find Cadswallader and Hopkins and the rest of his mates, hoping one of them's pulled some Beauxbatons girls or managed to smuggle in firewhiskey, or whatever.  

He's done dancing.   

-- 

   Thanks for reading.


	5. shut the blinds

A/N: Been away for a while, a little rusty. Thanks for reading.

**5. shut the blinds (free fall)**

"Fawcett's just snapped her bloody ankle in eight pieces or whatever," Zacharias announces, falling in step beside her on the path to the greenhouses, and before Susan can so much as gasp an 'oh no!' he rolls right on: "I'm pretty sure she did it to spite me. So the thing is, could you do me a favor and fly in her place at practice today?"

Susan stops in her tracks. For a split second she wonders if he's taking the mickey, but then remembers his sense of humor isn't quite this evolved.

"Um, I am not ready to fly Quidditch drills at the drop of a hat, you know."

"Course you are," he retorts, as if she's just said something nonsensical. "Look at you: you're tall, got the strong shoulders," -- he actually reaches over to press her right shoulder -- "even-tempered..."

"I'm not a _horse_."

"With those arms you're a bit more like an albatross, don't you think?" he points out, clearly not thinking things through, as usual. To his credit he hastens to add, a trifle awkwardly, "But a good-looking one! With legs! I've always liked your legs."

"Yeah, I suppose I'm alright," she replies, her tone dry as dust, "as far as leggy albatrosses go."

"You're my favorite one," he says, sincerely and brusquely. "Susan, I just need a visual Fawcett-shaped sort of person for the drills. I won't make you fly laps around the pitch or anything, swear to Merlin."

She really doesn't want to do this, but he's stood in front of her -- tie askew and his shirt untucked, tired, frustrated, and hopeful. It's the last one she likes seeing on him best.

"Just a spare body in the air, I suppose," she finally says, chagrined.

He beams at this, and it occurs to her he's quite the good-looking albatross himself when he smiles--

--but he's still talking. "Exactly, a spare body! And yours will do nicely. Wait, why are you laughing?"

"Zacharias, we need to have a talk about you and your compliments." Susan pulls at his arm, smiling despite herself. "Come on, we'll be late for Herbology."

* * *

_He makes corrections, you shut the blinds_

- The Pains of Being Pure at Heart


	6. a civil contract

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reads and comments. Hard to believe anyone still is... even harder to believe that I'm still writing this!

**6. a civil contract (archaic)**

Somehow, they'd got to talking about marriage in the wizarding world, which Susan will first blame on that morning's History of Magic lesson but will finally decide is her fault, for asking in the first place.

"Well, my parents' marriage was arranged," Zacharias explains without embarrassment as he scribbles away at his homework. "Their families agreed on it their sixth year, and they married out of school."

Sitting beside him, Susan raises an eyebrow. "Huh. Y'know, somehow I'd expected that, considering. . . er. You."

He shrugs in agreement, not at all insulted. He dips his quill in the inkpot they're sharing and Susan is momentarily intrigued by the quick, decisive motions of his handwriting.

She considers him. "Do they expect you to do the same thing?"

He gives her a wry look. "What do you think? My mother has already asked me about all the girls in our year. I think she's even compiled notes."

She tries to suppress a grin but fails, imagining a thin-faced, Zacharias-like woman comparing sixteen-year-old girls and probably finding the lot of them lacking.

"And you're just going to let her? Won't you do something about it?"

He snorts, gesturing dismissively. "Why should I? It's not as if they can _force_ me to do anything." He pauses, glances at her and looks away again, and after a moment, he adds, "She's been curious about you. Well, about all the Hufflepuff girls, but mostly you."

Something like alarm flutters through her chest. "Zacharias, what exactly have you been telling your parents about me?" she demands, her voice ending on a bit of a squeak.

"Nothing! I mean, they know we're good friends. . . Alright, they know that you're probably my only real girl-friend. I mean, friend-who-is-a-girl." He looks uncomfortable, a bit of color blooming in his cheeks. "It's only that... your aunt's been in the papers, and obviously you have the most impressive family tree out of all of us."

She goggles a little at that. "Oh, _no._ She wants an infusion of Bones lineage?"

"Something like that," he admits, smirking. "She thinks marrying someone like you will do wonders for my hypothetical political career."

"Political career! Has your mother _met_ you?"

"Once or twice, at social functions," Zacharias deadpans. "I've explained it all to her - like how I have a special talent for making people dislike me in five minutes flat - but she won't believe me! She thinks I'm being _humble._"

Susan laughs sincerely at that.

"I know!" He shakes his head. "Maybe you can fake-marry me and explain it to her. She'd only believe it from a daughter-in-law."

"Only if I get packets of Galleons after the fake-divorce."

"Up to half my kingdom," he replies, inclining his head grandly. "Which right now includes one hundred and thirteen Arithmancy equations and two History essays..."

"Never mind, I'm breaking off our engagement!"

And of course, that's when Justin walks into the room.


End file.
